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The Junction of Laughter 
and Tears 

BY 

DE KELLER STAMEY 




BOSTON 
RICHARD G. BADGER 

The Gorham Press 
1905 



Copyright 1Q05 by De Keller Stamey 
All Rights Reserved 



UfeHftrtY of CONGRESS 
Two CoDies Recelveil 

MAY 8 J 906 
COPY g, ' 



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Printed at 

THE GORHAM PRESS 

Boston, U. S. A 



TO THE TWO I LOVE BEST— 
MY WIFE, 
OUR BABE. 



CONTENTS 

Page 

The Junction of Laughter and Tears 9 

The Valley of Roses 13 

Mt. Gretna 14 

April 14 

A Sunrise 16 

Easter Morning 17 

The Thousand Isle 20 

The Calla Lily 21 

The Afterglow 22 

Memorial Poem 27 

Only 28 

Deeds 29 

One from the Ranks 29 

Auf Weidersehn 32 

"Let There Be Light'' 37 

When My Sun Sets 39 

// We Knew All 40 

I Am Not Sure 42 

My Harvest Whistle 45 

The Days With Nothin Special to Do 46 

"Please, Mister, a Flower T 47 

To a House-Mouse 48 

"A Time to Let Go'' 49 

W'en We Wus Boys 51 

^Cause It's Christmas 55 

The Engine-Man 56 

The Sick Doll 56 

Fairyland 56 

When My Ship Comes In 57 

The Farmer-Man 58 

Baby Land ^3 

A Hidden Name 60 



CONTENTS 

Page 

A Hidden Name 6l 

An Autograph "5 

An Autograph 65 

Hope 66 

Sowing and Reaping 66 

Silver Lake 67 

Lines and Lines 68 

The Little Boot 68 

To the New Year 68 

Dream Life 69 

Evening Thoughts 7^ 

Father 70 

My Valentine 10 

Spirit Life 7 1 

The Everlasting Right 75 

Over the Way 76 

Some Glad Day 77 

Lines on the Death of a Friend — (7. B. R.) 78 

An Extract 79 

When Carrie Came 79 

When Carrie Died 82 

The Near-By Far-Away 84 

O, My Loved One 87 

Home 88 

Uncle Adam and Good Aunt Jane 89 

Do I Like Pie 91 

Violet 92 

Because We Are Going Back Home 93 

The Summer Land 94 

Fair Jewel 95 

Two Years Ago 96 

Wee Feet 98 

My Cumberland — A Fragment 99 

My Little Love lOO 

My Best 102 

Falsely Accused 104 

Riley* s *Ritins — A Recital 113 



THE JUNCTION OF LAUGHTER 
AND TEARS 



THE JUNCTION OF LAUGHTER AND 

TEARS 

In life, in the region, the region of life 
Are the streamlets of laughter and tears ; 

They wind in the meadows and cool tangled copse, 
And swell as the junction each nears, 

Where they mingle their waters a time through the 
years, — 
In the region, the region of laughter and tears. 

In the streamlet of laughter, the sister of tears. 

In the region of laughter and tears. 
The warp and woof ripples of finely wrought gold 

Chant songs for evanishing years; 
The pearl bedded sand mystic crystal appears 

In the streamlet of laughter, the sister of tears. 

Where the river of hope joins the river of fears, — 

The junction of laughter and tears ; 
Face set to face, the dreams of the past, 

The songs of the faraway years. 
And the anguish of heart as the junction it nears, 

Where hope find its Golgotha, tears. 

Where the river of song joins the river of sighs. 

The junction of laughter and tears; 
Where the music of meeting is lost in good-byes. 

And the hope of returning, in fears; 
Where the heights of delight dip in oceans of grief, 

And the dread of the night in day finds relief. 

Where the flood of to-day meets the ebb of the past. 

The junction of laughter and tears; 
Where memories old at the new stand aghast, 

In the cycle of vanishing years; 
Where the chords of the past mould the songs of to- 
day. 

And the heart's love lives on in the dear far-away. 



O ! there's life at the junction, here real life appears, 

The junction of laughter and tears; 
Here heart-valves are opened, or praises, or jeers, 
And Christ-pierced hands and foul taunts and 
leers ; 
Here the song meets the cry and the smile, the wet 
eye. 
As the river the junction flows heedlessly by. 

We each at the junction our journey must bend. 

The junction of laughter and tears; 
And what with the mingling our life's fairest end ? 

Shall we shun the thorns, nails, and the spears? 
Shall we ever our bark through the fast fleeting 
years 

Steer grandly to haven through trials and fears ? 
Christ hallowed the fountain of tears. 

The junction of laughter and tears. 



to 



UNDER THE BLUE DOME 



THE VALLEY ROSES 

L 

Between the Balkans and Sredna Gora, 
In the Valley of Roses the sunbeams lay. 
The Valley is sweet with the perfume of bloom 
Of the Rose Damascena from sunrise till gloom. 
But the flowers to be culled for the Otto of Roses 
Are plucked at the dawn when the cool dew repos- 
es > 
In sleep enchantment upon the fair blushes 
Of rose sprays as lithe as the willowy rushes, 

XL 

My heart glides away with my dreamy thoughts 
bent 

On that Vale of Bulgaria. With rapture intent 
I live 'neath the blue of those skies far-away, 
While my senses are bathed in the wealth of the day. 

O ! the scenes of the blossoms, God given, to me, 

Speak of vistas on earth, — of a heaven to be; 
And the dream — who can tell? — in the future may 

grow 
Into billowy blossoms, — hope's vision aglow! 

III. 

Fair Valley of Roses ! A month thy pure face — 
From the middle of May — leaves indelible trace 
Of riches of peace I would gladly array 
In the battle for bread in this clime far away. 

E'en the cheat in the turmoil, which rages without 
The senses a moment, is a boon without doubt. 
So I dream of thy dew-laden roses of May 
Where the sun wakes the morns by the Sredna Gora 



13 



MT. GRETNA 

Walled in by Nature's graceful hand, 

Lake Conewago's smiling face 
The sun reflects, — the verdant strand 

Bedecked with primroses; you trace 
Her winding form by point, in bay 
Where shadows dwell the livelong day. 

What matters care? Here shady dell 
Bespeaks the hour's ease; here birds 

To cooing mates their rapture tell, 

And rippling springs, thoughts back of words; 

Year after year their liquid flows, — 

From crystal, blushes forth the rose. 

Who love thy haunts ? Who know thee best, 

Mt. Gretna, can but feel the glow 
Of life and health and placid rest? 

Chautauqua, seeds of action sow 
To-day and then, when other eyes 
Shall feast on thee in glad surprise. 

I would my pen might paint thy skies 
In tints that warm the heart with song! 

Could it but snatch from paradise 
A scene, what dreams would throng 

About thy hallowed grounds, ah ! ah ! 

Thou mind, heart, life-gift, Chautauqua. 

APRIL 

Talk is cheap, I hear you say ; 
Work is work and play is play ; 
Summer suns don't shine upon 
April days till day is done ; 
Showers sprinkle, clouds hang low 
O, for blithesome May day's glow ! 

14 



Riley sings of lovely June ; 
Vaunts her praises to the moon ; 
Makes her part and parcel of 
Heavens' gifts, where mists dissolve 
Into halos, songs atune, — 
Rarest, fairest, perfect June! 

May be suns don't fizz and sizz 
On my merry April's Phiz. ; 
May be honey bees don't flit 
'Neath umbrella leaflets, sit. 
Drink the honeyed juices, spoon 
The spinster cowslips fair of June. 

But I vow when April showers 
Pink Arbutus, blue the flowers 
( Johnny- Jump-Ups) with the store 
Of the heaven's hanging o'er, 
I am always fain to sing 
April's good enough for spring. 

Spreads the apple-bloom above 
Where in budding dreams my love 
Sits. The crocus fills the bower 
With her golden face ; the hour 
Flits. The violet tells the lay 
Of our hearts this April day. 

"Anticipation — Full Possession." 
Argued, battled, — great contention! 
May and June are flooded noon ; 
Dawning morn, this April, boon 
Companion of growing dreams 
Ripened in these balmy beams. 

Bursting life at dawn of day ; 
Zephyr kisses ; twinkling spray ; 
Rarest dews on grassy lawns, 

15 



Tender, fresh as glance of fawn's 
From her ivy mantled wood, 
Where the dreamy sunbeams brood. 

Sing, oh, birds! your anthems raise! 
Sing, oh. Earth, thy budding praise! 
Bride of Sun, thy warm heart glows, 
Heaves with hope awakened ! Flows 
The streams in laughter, rippling by, 
Smiles her truth, — the imaged sky! 

Nature opens wide her doors. 
Floods the earth with music ; pours 
Into streams her jewels bright, 
Dewdrops caught in silver light; 
Sprays of life from everywhere 
Fan the pulsing, flushing air. 

And when twenty-twos and threes 
Mark the calendar, the trees 
Shooting tufts of green and white. 
Gold and pink — "she's out of sight." 
Just the budding, blushing, gay 
Sweet-Sixteen — My April day. 

A SUNRISE 

O, message sweet! O, joy of life and love! 
Be thou my guide to realms of peace above ! 

Lo ! I behold the dawn, and far on high 
Floats out on wings my glad thanksgiving cry. 

Yon bird afloat but stops to catch the gleam 
Of jeweled East and bear to copse and stream, 

Where liquid pure kisses its beak and plume. 
And murmurs thanks to bird and bush in bloom. 

i6 



See where yon cloud with tinted veins floats free, 
A limpid isle within an azure sea. 

Now brighter beams of dawning day appear 
O'er mountain's brim and hamlet nestling near. 

The lengthening streaks pierce far the arched skies, 
And reach and touch the moon that northward lies; 

While rising breeze proclaims the birth of day, 
Into my heart flashes life's cheering ray. 

O, message sweet! O, joy of life and love! 
E'er be my guide to realms of light above! 



EASTER MORNING 

'Twas on that first, primaeval morn. 
When silver light from gloom was torn; 
When God, the Universal, furled 
The wings of night athwart our world ; 
When "Let there be," and daylight fell 
Upon the earth ; and all was well. 

Yet in the midst of sheen was brought 

The universe — expanded thought ; 

I will create a nature fair 

To people this expanse of air; 

And man shall rule in power clad, — 

My image ; good should rule the bad. 

But while He yet thought on the fair 
Creation of this primal pair. 
Hell learned the will of mighty God, 
And thought to lead where satan trod. 
These souls created, — free from vice — 
A false, revengeful sacrifice! 

17 



'Twas then that He who rules the storm, 
Who bids the ocean keep her form, 
Bethought Himself, and with his Son 
Held converse precious; — life was won! — 
And we all, dead before He died. 
Now live since He was crucified. 

O, happy morn when Juda's star 

Shed radiance on the hills afar ! 

O, happy they who came and found 

In swaddling cloths the child Christ bound! 

O, happy earth, that, filled with light. 

Must thrill with music Christmas night! 

O, happy they who felt the touch 

Of Him who loved erring so much! 

O, happy eyes that saw the glow 

Of heaven melt their hearts of snow! 

O, happy ears, again, again. 

To hear the blessed, "Good will to men!" 

O, precious treasure to the heart 
A-bowed with grief ! the veil apart 
Was rent for me ; for me the thorn, 
The piercing thorn for me was borne! 
For me the weary form the cross 
To Calvary bore, to burn the dross. 

But happier still to know the tomb — 
Too narrow bounds — the sullen gloom — 
Was broken with the dawn of day. 
That Easter morn, earth's "Holy Day." 
Happy beyond expression's plea, 
Christ lives: in you, my brother? me? 

Since then the light of Easter morn 
Has cheered the fainting heart; has torn 
From death his sting, the grave her goal ; 
And sped on tireless wing the soul 

i8 



To heaven's gate. O, Easter Day, 
We prize thy gift ! 'tis Christ, our way. 

O, Easter morn ! What hearts sore tried, 
With sorrow filled, because He died ! 
O, Easter morn! A-breaking fair 
On tear dimmed eyes and rended hair ! 
O, Easter morn! Who dreamed of this 
Light, dawning light, with heaven's bliss ! 

Methinks the flowers felt the gloom 
That reigned about the sealed tomb. 
The tears caught in their chalice fell 
From grief-wrung Nature, — mystic spell! 
The birds in silence thread the leaves 
Of low-hung gloomy cypress trees ! 

O, mystic hour when shadows caught 
The whisper of the dawn, and fraught 
With silence, stole to realms afar. 
To fill the perfume ladened air 
With richer strains of music than 
Had ever sung the ears of man ! 

O, mystic hour ! O, mystic lay ! 

A chant of far-of? yesterday; 

O, happy hearts that beat above 

The conquered tomb ! O, wondrous love. 

To prompt to death ; to fill the gloom 

With radiance from the broken tomb! 



19 



THE THOUSAND ISLE 

(To Her Whom I Love.) 

[Written upon the back of an uncollected R. R. 
return ticket]. 

Do you remember, my love, this slip ? 

Do you remember the days ? 
The rambles ? the rocks ? the Island ship ? 

The countless Isles? and the bays, 
Where we drifted free from the world, all trim, 
In our boat on the whispering ripples' brim ? 

Those days! those nights! my Heart's Desire! 

A crystal palace sphere! 
The melting moon, the waves to tire, 

Lay deep in the waters clear ; 
And the million stars In the sober sea 
Of waters rippling for you and me ! 

And the thousand songs from the thousand Isles, 

In their thousand mystic barks! 
The fresh love caught in your beaming smiles. 

Your eyes like the dancing sparks 
On the water's breast ; your lips of love 
Alive to the touch of mine above ! 

O ! the dancing light, and the wave's caress 

On the rocks beneath our prow! 
Your heart to mine; (our eyes confess 

To the moon our marriage vow!) 
The banquet of love where the lilies dip 
Their snow-white plumes by the T. I. P. 



20 



THE CALLA LILY. 

Have you heard the story told, 

Of the lily's crown of gold ; 

How upon the Easter morn 

On the snowy sheath 'twas born ? 

How the lily by the tomb 

Opened forth its wealth of bloom? 

This the story: On that day 
When the dear, dead Saviour lay 
In his lodgings hewn from stone. 
Grew the lily all alone. 
Trusting that the Lord would smile 
On its waiting afterwhile. 

"For," said it, "to-morrow morn 
Is the third day since the thorn 
Pierced the brow of Him within ; 
And He said the source of sin 
Was in fearing, doubting; He 
Said that faith was chastity. 

"So I'll greet Him as the door 

Opens from the tomb before ; 

See Him smile that earth should know 

Him the Son of God below, — 

We the flowers know and feel 

His divinity, and kneel." 

This the calla lily thought 
In its heart of hearts, and sought 
To the Saviour, dear, to be 
Type of faith and purity ; 
To be waiting on its Lord, 
Trusting wholly in His word. 



21 



Came the angel bright at day, 
Broke the seal, and rolled away 
From the tomb the heavy stone. 
Sat upon 't, a kingly throne: 
While from out the gloom God's Son, 
Risen, came forth; life was won. 

But the lily bowed its head, 
Let the radiance round it spread 
Should its sight in fever seal. 
See the gentle Saviour kneel 
By its side and kiss the flower. 
Type of resurrection hour. 

For in it with meekness crowned. 
Purity and peace abound. 
See! the kiss upon its brim 
Left a golden-tinged rim. 
Thus to-day it wears the gem 
Of the Babe of Bethlehem. 



THE AFTERGLOW 

Only a mite of a flower, tipped 

With its tracings of purple and gold ; 

Caught in its chalice, sunshine was sipped. 
As much as the heart could hold. 

The summer zephyrs music played 

In the tiny, threaded cup. 
In the hedgerow's side, in the orchard shade. 

Where the cool spring bubbles up. 

Two hearts were opened to thee ; — a song 

Of love — each went its way; 
Each toiled alone 'mid the heedless throng 

On earth's strange passage-way. 

22 



But thou had'st been to them a boon ; 

For the heart, alone, must break, 
If it find no ear the brightest noon 

Or the darkness night to take. 

The sun has dropped in his orbit now ; 

The birds have flown away ; 
The ghost of the summer's leafy bough 

Sways, groans through the livelong day. 

Yet summer's perfumed days are here 

In thy folds ; the sunny leas, 
Wall-rimmed by the mountains blue, appear. 

And the stretch of the rippling seas; 

The dip of the oars, the flapping sail. 

White-winged, in the harbor bay; 
The flash of the sea-gull's glossy mail ; 

The laughter of childhood's day; 

The tinkle of bells, the lowing herd ; 

The blooms of the clover red ; — 
O! what emotions of bliss! what word 

Can speak to the heart a-wed 

To nature's touch? Thou, little gem, 

That brook'st the frosty night, 
Fair honeysuckle, — a diadem 

A-culled from the summer bright, 

O ! could we but learn from thee the truth ; 

In the summer of love to cull 
A golden sheaf from the joys of youth 

For the dreary afterlull. 

When the heart is sick with the lagging days, — 

Hope's fires burning low! — 
Then would our lives through the cherished rays 

Reflect an afterglow. 

23 



THE MAELSTROM 



MEMORIAL POEM 

Tears for the brave! Once battle's roar 
The breath of dying heroes bore ! 

To-day in peace we bank the flowers 
Upon the graves of theirs and ours; 
The Grey long fought for what they saw 
As Liberty's most cherished law. 

In barracks, field, on river, plain, 

Beneath the scorching sun, in rain. 
The boys in Blue gave up their lives, 
And won ; the Union still survives. 

Then strife the father tore from son ; 

To-day our hopes commingled run. 

O, South, forget the feud of death, 
And breathe anew the pulsing breath 

Of life begun 'neath your fair sky! 

O, North, the hopes, the destiny 
Of that for which your sons have bled 
Hang on a single, trembling thread. 

Forbear, O, South! Forbear, O, North! 
O, Union ! What is union worth. 

If under palm of power run 

The vices of a race begun 
In freedom's light ? Let honor be 
Our nation's life, our liberty ! 

Then shower blossoms on the grave 
Of hero ; let our emblem wave 
From gulf to lake, from sea to sea, 
And speak the patriot's joy to be 
A sharer in this vast domain 
Of wealth of forest, river, plain! 



27 



Help us, O, God, to live our part. 
That joy may fill the nation's heart ; 

That purity may dwell within 

The body-politic; begin 
Thy reign ; through chaos ope the bars 
Of day upon our stripes and stars. 



ONLY 

Only a smile when the way was dark. 

And the sunshine burst to view ; 
Only a touch when the heart was lone, 

And the soul felt there were two 
That were traveling the mountain pathway steep. 
With its treacherous gulches dark and deep. 

Only a word when caution failed, 

And the truth prevailed again ; 
Only a clasp of a horny hand. 

But it said: "My brother, when 
The battle breaks and the bullets fly 
A trusty friend is watching nigh." 

Only a, "God be with you, dear," 
But it rang till the days had passed ; 

Only a song, but its memory 
Sank deep in the heart to last 

Till life's sharred threads in heaven found 

Re-echoing sweetly its hallowed sound. 

Only! My friend, in this dream of life, 

The "Onlys" are all we know; 
To-day with its opportunities 

Fades into the vesper glow. 
Mellowing out into shadow of night 
To brighten only with "Onlys" light. 



28 



DEEDS 

Not what we think, nor what we say, 

But what we do from day to day 

Bears fruit. The thought may drop to earth, 

Be buried deep; its very birth 

May in oblivion be lost. 

But deeds ! ah ! here we feel the cost ; 

For deeds, when done, can never be 

Our own again ; in sympathy, 

The hearts and minds of men respond 

To purest love, or foul despond. 

'Tis true that thought leads on to speech, 
Which, slipping o'er the tongue, must reach 
The ears of men, for good or ill ; 
But as o'er speech and tone the will 
By "form and motion" power is bent, 
The deed speaks loudest in th' event : 
And passions lying dormant may 
Beneath a captain's will obey. 

. So, though 'tis well to bridle tongue 
If praise thou'dst have in tribute sung; 
And though 'tis best to guard the mote 
That grows and hides ; the deed, I vote. 
Must e'er condemn, or justify. 
When time is summed, and life is nigh. 

ONE FROM THE RANKS 

Not of Dewey, or Sampson, or Schley, or Bob, or 
the vanquished Don ; 

Not of Nelson, the English Lord, Trafalgar's im- 
mortal son; 

Not of Sheridan, Grant, or Lee, or of Washington, 
Frederick, or N. 

I sing: for my song is a simple theme— just one of the 
loyal men. 

29 



One from the ranks, no bard was he ; no crown of 
laurel entwined 

His manly brow; no sceptered might found lodg- 
ment in his mind. 

Too noble for envy, too loyal for bribe, he followed 
his conscience' lead ; 

He gave what he had, — an arm to strike for country 
in her need. 

A wife and baby his all in all! His all? O, rich man 

he! 
For they loved with a love few hearts can know — 

a happy trinity ; 
Through longing and losing and winning had come 

to peace and a sweet content ; 
They dwelt in the present, the future bore for them 

no sad portent. 

The cry, "War! War! The Nation's at need!" was 

flung on the breeze's wing. 
"Shall I go?" "Yes, John." "Would you have me 

go?" "No matter the pitiless sting 
Of days of trembling and anxious life, you know 

your duty's call." 
He asked ; though he knew the patriot heart abeating 

beneath it all. 

"Good-by, dear Love; good-by, sweet babe; it is 

well she cannot know 
Just yet the ache in our hearts to-day ; don't waken 

the dear, no, no! 
She'll scarcely know me when I come back ; but tell 

her of papa's love. 
And now, — God bless you, my spirit wife; should 

I come not, we'll meet above." 



30 



"O, the days are long and the nights are long, and 

each hour's a dreary age; 
But I'll keep the cottage snug and trim for my dear 

boy's anchorage. 
Three years, my Pet ; yes, three to-day since he kissed 

you as you lay 
In your crib: you can't remember, but O, he loved 

us so, dear May! 

"And he's coming back to his darlings soon, — in a 

month, at most ; they say 
He has earned his stripes, our soldier lad, — your 

father, my darling May: 
My husband earned them; I'm sure, for he, though 

his name's unknown to fame. 
Has done what a man can do, and will, for country 

and home's dear name. 

"They gave him a medal of purest gold and shoulder 
straps, he said 

In the letter he wrote, and he sent a kiss to his prec- 
ious little maid. 

And O, he is coming! my heart is full! And O, that 
the day were here ! 

A message for me, my man, you say? from the front? 
My God! O! hear! 

"'Shot while rescuing a comrade!' shot! 'He died 
with your name on his lips, 

And his baby's and God's.' O, life is full of dregs, 
while the froth one sips. 

O, I am aweary, my babe, my babe ! for we, we must 
walk alone. 

But God, God knows; dear babe, dear babe, in heav- 
en we'll meet our own !" 



31 



AUF WEIDERSEHN 

Auf weldersehn ! auf weidersehn ! 
Why must I 'neath your spell 
Break my poor heart in dreams 
That never lived, nor will? 
Why must my pulses start, 
While brain with seething fire 
Conjures thoughts never felt? 

Auf weidersehn ! auf weidersehn ! 
Thy strains must sure have meant 
Some boon longed for, but lost ; 
The smile of pleasure dimmed 
At recollections sore 
That "till we" would not come. 

Auf weidersehn ! auf weidersehn ! 

Beneath thy hidden lay 

What pent in hearts have beat! 

For in the future who 

Can know his heart's desire, — 

His bark in storm or calm? 

Auf weidersehn ! auf weidersehn ! 
Thou bringest to my mind 
The precious, wandering flowers 
That budded but to die; 
The sigh for toil in vain ; 
The labor spent ; the tears 
That fall on mossy mounds. 

Auf weidersehn ! auf weidersehn ! 
When shall we meet, my hopes, 
My visions, children of 
My life's long felt desires? 
Will come a day that I 
Shall clasp again my own, 
Own images full blown ? 

32 



Auf weidersehn ! auf weidersehn ! 
In some fair haven, we 
Shall meet again I know, 
All that we longed for here. 
We'll greet, in Eden's field, — 
Our gems, our loved and true, — 
But growing, budding fair 
Until we meet again. 



33 



IN PRAYERFUL MOOD 



"LET THERE BE LIGHT" 

Beliold the Lord In majesty! He stands 

At heaven's door half ope'd, 

Views tlie dim waste of darkness stretching out — 

Illimitable, solemn, vast — 

Unbroken by a solitary ray, 

Save that' from Him who thither stood. 

And looked upon the darkness. He 

Was bathed in brightness magnified 

By the dense gloom of the universe. 

His form — it were a sacrilege 

To frame description into words of man. 

Crystal the light of all the suns of night 

And day ; now add the light of countless worlds 

To man unknown ; collect it all 
\ For ages numberless — the glow — 

And into one brief millionth part 

Of time a tenth of moment long 

Concentrate all. The brilliancy 

Of Him, the All-Wise, far outshines 

The latter pigmy beam. 

As underneath the frozen deep 
The tundras' beds, all ice-bound, lie 
The souls of life in countless seeds 
That wait the herald-dawn, to vie 
In perfume, flowers of sunnier clime. 
They touched with kindness ; these with death ; 
When king frost lifts the shroud, the seeds 
Shall hearken to awakening breath ; 
As from the sands of ocean spring — 
From germs how old no tongue may know — 
The slender stalk, the seaweed spread ; 
Did winds or rains or seasons sow? 
All planting — all the ages hence may hide 
"Reveals in truth the truth to man's full sense, 
God knows His ways ; and Time will tell 
His agency. By Him 'tis all wrought welL 

37 



So as He stood — O, grandest theme 

That ever on man's Imagery 

Left traces ! — underneath, below, 

To left, to right, a countless realm 

Of pulsing, throbbing atoms tossed; 

Fair opportunity for might 

And majesty omniscient! 

Or here, or there, the swirling mass 

Of particles repellent; bound 

But by dim ether, endless space — 

Calm in the tossing, seething sea, 

Hear Him who spake the worlds to form: 

"Let there be light!" 
O, mighty depths 

Of hidden gloom reveal thy germs! 

O, mighty forces of the sea, 

Of unentrammeled matter, list! 

He speaks, the Might-All, the Lord! 
As rolls the curtain of the night ; 
As dawn, the sombre depths of sky 
Melts into blush of rosy morn ; 
As from the rift of thunder-cloud, 
That mantles o'er the shuddering earth, 
The sun bursts forth. His cerements 
From fringed black to bridal changed ; 
As after full eclipse of sun 
When strong hearts quake and nature weeps, 
The light of life and love again 
Encircles earth in warm embrace; 
As when the heart in slough of grief 
Sees hope a-glimmer on the tide; 
So — but that these are mortal — that 
First dawn of day when God spoke light 
Began developing, to grow 
Till universe of worlds His power 
Proclaimed, and sang Time's dawning hour! 
First, glints of light, the vapor bent 
In cycles ending but with Time; 

38 



O'er all the hand of mighty God ; 

The diamond sparkle of the spheres, 

As yet in infancy, remote. 

What gentle light, what incense rare 

To power, to influence divine! 

As diamond, catching diamond's fire, 
Grows radiant in the cluster's light; 
As countless strings take up the strain 
One cord gives life ; so, far and near 
The soft light grows, the anthem swells 
Till day and harmony, in one. 
Fills all the firmament, and tells 
To seraph ears, Time has begun. 

WHEN MY SUN SETS 

May the sun of morning breaking 

Fall on flowers drenched in dew ; 
May his midday beams in splendor 

Fire the heart with hopes anew ; 
May the afternoon of summer 

Flood fair lawn and minarets, 
In its marriage day of glory. 

When my sun sets. 

If must drift the shade of sadness 

Into every human life; 
If the eyes must dim — grow sightless 

With the bitterness of strife ; 
Let it flood my memory sleeping. 

Fill my years with sad regrets ; 
But I pray the sky be cloudless 

When my sun sets. 

In the morning let me gather 
What of harvest I may reap, 

Be it but a single flower 

From the rugged ways and steep ; 

39 



Let me sketch for memory's study 
Tracings that the heart begets, 

When the day has spent his vigor — 
When my sun sets. 

At the noontide, cup of water 

To the thirsty let me bring; 
Let me pluck the dart transfixing 

Fainting heart, the throbbing string, 
Calm with tender touch of pity, 

Cool with tears, transform regrets; 
Light the soul to distant Aideun; 

When my sun sets. 

What if wealth has brought position 
What if labor brought me fame; 

If no human being ever 

In his prayers repeats my name? 

^ ^ ^ ^ j|$ A|( ^ 

God, I pray, in mercy grant me. 
Though my neighbor me forgets. 

Peace of evening, twilight folding. 
When my sun sets. 

IF WE KNEW ALL 

If we knew all ! 
O, sad — glad words, "If we!" 
We want — we do not want — 
To know just all! 

If we knew all! 
Doubtless these days of gloom 
Would be a radiant crown. 
If we knew all. 

If we knew all ! 
Would partings seems so sore, 
Would shadows blind our eyes, 
If we knew all? 
40 



If we knew all, 
We'd bide the dreay waste 
Between this and our dreams ; 
Then learn it all. 

If we knew all ! 

What hopes must turn to dreams, 
What dreams to hopes, we'd wait 
To know it all. 

If we knew all! 
How sunshine follows shade, 
How efforts fruit must bear. 
We'd trust it all. 

If we knew all ! 

For us a purer faith, 

A fuller trust must spring, 

If we knew all ! 

If we knew all ! 
Beneath the broken sobs 
Would glide a stream of peace. 
If we knew all. 

If we knew all ! 

Gods knows, and He knows best. 
Can we not trust His grace 
Till we know all ? 



41 



I AM NOT SURE 

1 am not sure when the light will come, 

Or come it early, or come it late ; 
But I know till then I will struggle on 

Toward the wicket-gate. 

I know not what is in store for me. 
Or whether sorrow, or whether joy; 

But I'll toil in the vineyard of life; may be 
He'll pity, and stamp alloy. 

I know not whither my feet may run. 

For my flesh is weak and my strength is small — 

Or whether the narrow way, or one 

That leads where the cypress shadows fall. 

Sometimes I wish that the way was clear; 

Sometimes I sorrow for what I know : 
Soon! Soon! Shall I reap but the bitter tear? 

Will He say to the poor, frail mortal, "Go?" 

"Go in?" or, "Go out?" I know but this; 

In His vineyard I'll toil in my own weak way; 
He may find a place in His home of bliss 

For me in His merciful way. 

For my heart is right; 'tis the flesh is weak; 

And who can tell as well as I 
What it is to shiver amidst the bleak, 

The overhanging sky? 

Judge not, dear Lord; in Thy mercy spare: 
Help, help me to reach what I fain would be. 

I'll struggle on; do Thou the tare 
Purge ; fit me to dwell with Thee. 



42 



IN PLAYFUL MOOD 



MY HARVEST WHISTLE 

O, I take a stalk of barley, 

Or, of rye, a full-grown joint; 

And I cut at node, and trim it 

With my razor-like knife point. 

Then an inch below I cut the stalk 

'Most half way through the tube. 

And I split it down with careful hand, 

A reed of barley rude. 

Next I lift the 'snap' up gently 

Till it stands like door ajar, 

But just enough to let the breath 

Pass 'neath the tuning bar. 

O, fair creation! boyhood's joy! 

Or will, or will it not 

Give forth the sound I know so well, 

Below the garden lot? 

I place the reed within my lips, 

And they with tender care 

Caress the tube, while music flows 

Upon the willing air. 

Thus I make my barley whistle 

And I chant my heart's content 

In the ''creek of childhood's pleasure," 

Without leave; on license bent. 

Free am I, no bird is freer — 

From the tyranny of looks, 

O, for boyhoods's days and sunshine. 

Never heard nor seen in books! 



45 



THE DAYS WITH NOTHIN' SPECIAL TO 

DO 

O, I like the days with the dreamy haze, — 

The days with nothin' special to do ; 
I like to work, but I like the laz — 

— Y days with nothin' to do 
The rain drips down through the golden sprays 

Like the thoughts that sift through the by-gone 
days, 
In these days with nothin' special to do. 

The winds sigh low and a rustle keep, 
In these days with nothin' special to do ; 

The eaves of the cottage and bird-house weep. 
On these days with nothin' special to do, — 

These rainy days with their load of care 

Trickling down through the chincks of the atmo- 
sphere, — 

These days with nothin' special to do. 

When the sun shines bright — 'tis another thing 
On these days with nothin' special to do ! — 

I'm up with the lark, in the busy spring; 
But these days with nothin' special to do 

Jes' rests my soul when the labor's done, 

And the clouds hang low from sun to sun, — 

These days with nothin' special to do. 

The back must bend and the joints must ache ; 

But these days with nothin' special to do 
Makes me feel that life has its give and take ; 

For these days with nothin' special to do 
Recall the days when we used to be 
As free as the waves on the summer sea. 

An' I jes' rest now in the dreamy haze 

A dreamin' again of the by-gone days, — 
The days with nothin' special to do. 

46 



"PLEASE, MISTER, A FLOWER!" 

"Please, mister, a flower," the urchin said; 

'Twas only a daisy of white and gold — 
And I gave in the little, grimy hand 

As many buds as the fist would hold ; 
And I watched the smile as it played about 

The mouth erewhile in a childish pout. 

"Please, mister, a flower!" a little girl, 
With eyes of heaven's own perfect blue. 

And meshes of hair in tangled curl. 
Asked soft, afraid of her voice I knew. 

I gave her a bunch of buttercups 

With sunshine filled at their morning sups. 

"Please, mister, a flower!" the buds will start 
And blossom a wholesomer flood of bloom. 

For where the sermon in whole, or part. 

Can chase from the trodden the deep'ning gloom 

Like the smile of God on this earth of ours 
In its answering echo of simple flowers ! 

"Please, mister, a flower!" we, fuller grown, 
Are ever seeking the selfsame boon ; 

We grasp the coveted prize; alone. 

We ponder, and grow to its image soon. 

God grant it be a ministering touch 

From the land of flowers, loved so much ! 



47 



TO A HOUSE-MOUSE 

(Which did not have the graces of Bobby B.'s.) 

No little quivering, cowering "beastie;" 
An imp of Hades sure, at least; he 

Scampers over floor and chair, 

This Beelzebub of teeth and hair 
And saucy mien and clattering feet, 
This pesky, pest, pestiferous beast. 

I barricade his entrance ; fleet, he 

Scales, surmounts each difficulty; 
I "shoo" and "hiss;" a quiet falls. 
Fair peace descends on battered walls. 

But ere I snooze, that horrid "beastie" 

Wakes up the gloom with pattering "feetie." 

O, Bobby Burns, how could you spin 

So much of sympathy within 

Your, "To a Mouse?" Your Scotch "mousie," 
True, claimed descent from family tree 

Far diflFerent from these that wear 

My nerves and patience thin as air. 

Fair Scotch "mousie," in nest of hair, 

Maybe thou'rt coy and debonair; 

But when thy cousins run the house, 
(Bob also wrote rhymes to a louse) 

I'll say my say to Pan, "Away, 

We will not arbitrate to-day." 

For though thy "breastie" throbs with fear, 

We see thy earmarks far and near : 

The more we see, thee, noisome "beastie," 
The more we wish Wah Ling a "feastie ;" 

We feel, indeed, full deep impressed 

To give thy mousehood endless rest. 

48 



So, mighty Mars, bring forth thy steel, 
And play the *'ten-spot;" make him feel 
Thy pangs remorseless. Tune thy lyre, 
O, Pan, and sing of rampage dire 
Undone, o'ercome, — and peace and bees 
And mouseless realms, while dreams appease. 



"A TIME TO LET GO" 

Pearl of the morning! evening's breath! 
Gem of the household's dream of wealth ! 

"The man who wins in the race is he 

Who sticks to his bush." 

Enlightened be: 
There's a time to let go. Don't misunderstand ; 
A world of truth's in the maxim grand 

And good — but the minds of men approve 

Of a little variation. 

Prove 
But this to my reason, "I'm at my best," 
And I'll ply the bush and trust the rest. 

But when I find that the way is clear 

To a better job, I'll quit. 

The cheer 
Is for the man who stakes his claim 
And works it well till bigger game 

Attracts his notice; he'd be a "mule" 

If he didn't change at once. 

To pule 
Over "tailings" is nonsense sheer — 
With nuggets in sight ; make the reason clear. 
And I'll risk the hand I hold, though flush. 
To change my bush in fortune's blush. 

49 



In Business: 
Do merchants "stick" just as they stuck 
In those dear days of the past good luck? 

They'd soon be "stuck" did they always stick, 
For Fickle Dame Fortune would play them a 
trick. 

In Literature: 
Is Rhetoric the same, do you think? 
Just look up your "obsoletes," link upon link: 
Through Chaucer you chew ! O, Shakespeare ! the 

stuff 
You must mentally masticate! Truly, 'tis bluff. 

In Customs: 
I own that a Greek gown would fit 
My taste to a T; but I scarce think the "spit" 
The equal of bright aluminium ware. 
Or the three-legged stool the rival of chair. 

In Politics: 

Well, we'll just leave that batch out; 

For a fledged politician's the same, without doubt, 
Be it yesterday, then, in the sweet long ago. 
Or to-day — he's a hog and the devil, you know — 

But in most of the other professions of life, 
(The "political hog" roots the best in the strife!) 

When your "bush" is not filled to your liking, and 
you 

Find another that's laden with better fruit — true 

To your nature, the most will you be If you "cut" 
The false dogma through, annihilate; — shut 
Your ears to the venerated "worm-eaten" fad. 
And let go; take express; and don't be a "cad." 

50 



Fot though "Stick to your bush" is a motto of gold, 
We all must admit, 'tis a "leetle bit" old; 
And it fails to suggest that a time may arrive 
When 'tis best to "move on" if one hopes to sur- 
vive. 
(Suggested at a blackberry-picking, when the 
bushes were not laden.) 



W'EN WE WAS BOYS. 

I've jes' been hard a-thinkin' late 
About the ways the boys acts now — 
Fer I've a boy! I kakilate 
They's driftin' overboard somehow; 
Mebby I'm wrong, — I wish I was; 
No special good, the way boys does. 

Say, Pete, w'en we wus boys, d'ye think 
We sassed 'z much 'z boys does now ? 
Uv course, we hed a-lots uv fun, 
'N', mebby, now an' then a row; 
But' barrin' all them boyish ways. 
Was we 'z 'tarnal mean *z they iz? 

I'm not a-blamin' boys 'z much 
'Z them 'at hez their bringin' on ; 
Ef I jes' hed the chance t' reach 
Them payrents, ev'ry mother's son 
Uv them would feel my argyment 
In tender spots — 'Thout comment. 

Ye say ye guesses boys 're like, 
Creation roun'? Well, I'll agree; 
But, then, I've come fer t' b'lieve 
They's changed a lot sens you 'n' me 
Was wolloped ef we didn't min 
Our p's 'n q's 'n manners fine. 

51 



W'y, now a boy's a grown-up man 
In 'is own min' afore 'e's eight; 
'E chaws 'n' smokes 'n' lies 'n' swears, 
'N' tramps th' streets at night till late ; 
Is^pap 'e calls "old boy" 'n' "boss," 
'N' swears his d — n w'en 'e gits cross. 

O, I hev all respeks fer boys, 
Their little w'ims 'n' little tricks ; 
But w'en they tries t' run the ranch, 
I'm in fer usin' 'em air sticks 
We use ter see upon the rack, 
'N' hear 'em buzzin' with a thwack. 

My boy, 'z fur 'z I kin see, 

Jes' feels the same 'z we did then ; 

Fer eddication larns the min'. 

But pain trains boys t' be good men. 

I b'lieve in both, 'n' kin'ness too ; 

But Win' kin'ness '11 never do. 

Noo-fangled ways, they may be right 
'Ithin their sp'ere, but, 'z I see. 
Boys' manners now-a-days 'z not 
Respec'ful 'z they use ter be. 
So, I sez: halt, y're off your track, 
Jes' stiddy up, 'n take a tack. 



52 



FOR CHILDHOOD EARS 



'CAUSE IT'S CHRISTMAS 

'Cause it's Christmas, Santa Claus 

Always acts the way he does; 

Works all the year at making toys, 
Dolls for girls and sleds for boys ; 

Horses, cradles, wagons, balls, 

Houses with the cutest walls 

Made of painted bricks, and white 
Chimneys, lit up Christmas night. 

Christmas trees! I wonder where 
Santa grows them all, — somewhere. 
And his reindeer, how they fly 
Over housetops, through the sky ! 
Why don't Mrs. Santa come 
With him now I wonder ; some 

Night I'll watch; for, may be, she 
Does come round with good Santee. 

Wish 'twas Christmas all the days, — 
Candies, cookies, nuts always; 

Trees with pop-corn, dates, and figs, 
Lit with candles on the twigs. 
But I think of all he brings 
In his pack of Christmas things, 
I like books about the best, 
Full of pictures, — with the rest. 

So, dear Santa, please, I write, 
Bring some books on Christmas night. 



55 



THE ENGINE-MAN 

The engine-man's the big boss man, 

He bosses the engine 'n train ; 

He pulls the handle that turns the wheels 

Around 'n' around again. 

Ef ever I grows ter be a man, 

I'll engineer like Uncle Dan. 

He runs the engine 'n' shovels the coal, 
'N' takes the tickets when people ride; 
Fer the road don't pay fer men ter loaf 
The manager says. But I kin ride 
Fer nothin' 'ith him ; 'n' I rings the bell, 
'N' I pulls the whistle, 'n' acts the swell. 

So, when I grows up, like Uncle Dan, 
You bet I'll be an engine-man. 

THE SICK DOLL 

What shall I do, for Dolly is sick? 
Dr. Curem, come, O, come quick, 
And give my dolly some catnip-tea, — 
With a stick of peppermint candy for me, — 
And I'll rock her to sleep in her cradle so. 
For my sick little dolly is sleepy I know. 

Bylo, baby; baby bye; 

Dr.'s coming, Pet; don't cry: 

Bylo, baby- bye. 

FAIRYLAND 

Come, Pet, let us go where the lilies grow 
And the swans on the water float ; 
Where the waves below on the white sands flow, 
'Neath the tiniest fairy boat; 
And I'll catch you a sunbeam and tie it so — 
To my bonny Pet's bright ribbon bow. 

56 



Now, Pet, you look like the little book — 

What it told of the sunny elf, — 

How frowns forsook ; for the cosiest nook 

Was kept for the smile itself, 

Which wreathed the delicate rosebud lips, 

And feasted us with the sweetest sips. 

O, Pet, don't you think that 'tis better to drink 

The sunshine than the shade? 

Let the dewdrops sink in my precious pink. 

My pink-cheeked little maid ; 

And down we'll go where the wavelets flow 

And the lilies and fairy blossoms blow. 



WHEN MY SHIP COMES IN 

What will I do when my ship comes in, 
When my longed for ship comes in ? 

I'll wrap you up in the moonbeam's light, 

And take you asailing away in the night 

To the land of stars, — what a wondrous sight! 

We'll visit the mystical land of dreams. 

Afloat on the tide of the Sand Man's streams. 

Where he gathers his pearls in the moonlight beams. 

And mamma will sing us her sweetest note, 
As we sail away in our fairy boat, 

A song that ripples with hope and love. 

We three afloat, and the stars above. 

And O, the joy when we lovers three 

Go sailing out on life's dreamy sea! 

We'll drop the burdens that weight us down, 
Forget in our joy the once-thorn crown : 

The frown exchange for the smile, we three, 

To live in life's dreamiest harmony. 

57 



For we've sailed away, 
Dear Loves, to-day 
In our boat on the moonlit sea. ' 

THE FARMER-MAN 

O, I'd love ter be a farmer-man; 

I'd plow, 'n' harrer, 'n' drive the span 

On Sundays to church, with the hostler, you bet, 

'N' sing with the anthem 'n' choir-duet. 

'N' I'd snooze in the hammick 'n' under the trees 

By the spring, 'n' the blossoms, 'n' big bumble-bees. 

O, it's fun ter be — **But a farmer-man 

Must work," y'u say? Well, I guess I can. 

I'd work; but on holidays I'd fish 

Fer turkles 'n' catfish 'z much 'z I wish ; 

'N' I'd climb the trees for the birds' eggs blue; 

*N' I'd make mud-pies, 'n' the chickens shoo. 

Would I go 'n' live? Would I feast my eyes 

On pitchers fresh from a paradise! 

'N' I'd feel the happiest, sun or rain, 

Fer I'd have the whole of creation, plain. 

O, I wouldn't care a pinch fer "stuff," 

Ef I wuz a farmer sure enough. 

BABY LAND 

In the land of the setting sun, my dears. 

Is a castle of shining gold ; 
And fairies are flitting about, my dears, , 

And knights in their armor bold 
Are clanking their scabbards loud, my dears, 

And dancing, I am told. 

They've carpet of velvety grass, my dears. 
With flowers of golden hue ; 
And windows that look through the leaves, my dears, 

58 



Of thr canopy green at you ; 
And plenty of dainties and fruits, my dears, 
And sunshine the whole day through. 

The fairies' feet are as light, my dears, 

As they tread the mossy floor, 
As the breeze that tosses your curls, my dears ; 

As the fall of the dew on the moor ; 
As the fan of the swallows' wings, my dears, 

When they skim o'er the waters pure. 

And the songs that they sing are as sweet, my dears. 
As the notes that drop from the lutes 

Of the angel-bands that play, my dears. 
In the hush of night; and the flute's 

Sweet carols flow from the stars, my dears. 
Pure wine from celestial fruits. 

In the land of the setting sun, my dears. 

Are jewels, — diamonds, pearls; 
And the knights with lances and plumes, my dears. 

And the maidens with sunny curls 
Are children who in their homes, my dears. 

Were good little boys and girls. 

O, the land of the setting sun, my dears. 

Is sweet ; would you like to go. 
And see the flowers and birds, my dears. 

And hear the music flow 
From the harebell's rim in the dell, my dears. 

Where the *'Johnny-jump-ups" grow? 

Then do what your mamma says, my dears ; 

Be kind to nurse, and papa; 
And study your lessons, and learn, my dears, 

That right and duty are law ; 
And then when the sun shines bright, my dears, 

We'll visit this land with mamma. 

59 



A HIDDEN NAME 

I've a rosy wee thing, 
Round and ripe and sweet, 
Mayday perfume bringing — 
Apple blossom treat. 

Boughs aswaying gently ; 
Light the shadows play ; 
All my heart rejoices. 
Keeping time alway, 
Each returning day. 

Sunshine's gifts grow precious ; 
Time's swift feet beguile. 
As we fondly cherish 
Many a dimpled smile, — 
Each a priceless jewel, 
Yclept on earth erewhile. 

You who know no smiling 
Eyes to meet your own 
May, perchance, may question 
All of heaven's loan. 
Touched with dearer meaning, 
Some day you'll atone. 

Earth will sing her anthem, 
Kept in harmony, — 
After weary watches, 
Light upon the sea 
Breaking — bliss to thee. 

As the strains a-fleeting 
Melt into the past. 
Ring, joy bells of Heaven. 
I first and I the last. 

6c 



A HIDDEN NAME 

Came a modest little flower, 
A sweet pansy from the mould, 

Ringed with purple dress and mantle 
Round a heart of purest gold ; 

In its bosom held a dewdrop. 
Each as pure's e'er heavens told. 

Many hearts forgot their pain ; 
Aching brows grew calm again ; 
Yearning souls heard bless'd amen. 

Came into my life a dewdrop 
Using all the sunshine there; 

Robed my days with golden sunlight; 
Round my dreams shed incense rare. 

And within love's jeweled gate 

Nevermore I doubting wait. 



6i 



BREVITIES 



AN AUTOGRAPH. 

Out of the shadow 
Into the light ; 
Out of the gloaming; 
Out of the night ; 
Into the peace 
Of perfect trust ; 
Into the joy, — 
A life not lost. 

Out of your life 
Some incense fall 
Into a lonlier 
Heart's dark pall. 
Shadows of "sometime" 
Flee, and be 
Herald of longed for 
Eternity. 

AN AUTOGRAPH. 

As steals the shadows o'er the mould 
When fleeing day on western crest 
Smiles all her wealth of liquid gold. 

And sends her kiss on zephyrs pressed; 
As far beyond earth's vision glide 
The hallowed thoughts of eventide ; 
Thus, friend, at eve when life takes wing 
May heaven's garden incense fling 
From doors unbarred — thou there to roam- 
And angels bid thee, "Welcome Home!" 



6s 



HOPE 

But scenes and times and paths and hopes 
Must change our blessed horoscopes. 
Maybe we, In the flood of years, 
May grasp the reason of our fears. 
And bless the hand that sent us tears. 
I'll trust that He who fashions life 
Win shield the shuddering soul In strife ; 
Win rest my weary heart In peace 

When, by-and-by, 
He takes me to — with His release — 

His home on high. 

SOWING AND REAPING 

You win reap what you sow 

In this eden of ours; 

In this hell of desires ; 

What you plant you must reap that I know. 

Plant a seed of pure thought 

In this garden of flowers; 

In the far away hours 

Reap the joy, a fair hope sweetly bought. 

Sow the wild oats of youth 

In the fair fields of death ; 

Breathe the poisonous breath 

In the depths of your anguish, — no ruth. 

Be the end what It will. 

This I know, — surely know — 

What you wilfully reap you must sow. 

May God grant in the whirlwind of doubt and de- 
spair 

To thine heart His rich peace, thy lone pathway 
prepare. 

And ever the wild storm king still ; 

Peace — peace to thy soul ! Peace, be still ! 

66 



SILVER LAKE 

On thy bosom of silver to rest — 

How blest! 

Just swayed by thy ripples along 

Of song! 

Like an Eden in dreams, 

The Utopian beams 

Warm the closing — thy dying of day 

Away. 

The silence but broken by birds, — 

What words! 

And the rustling of trees and of flowers,— 

What hours! 

O, would that the feelings 

Thou stirrest, the beings 

Might penned be as scenes on my heart, 

A part ! 

Is it joy in thy heart thou feelest? 

Stealest 

The pulse of the morning? — the noon, 

A boon? 

There is life in thy song 

The woodland along, 

Stealing slow by the shadows below; 

Flow, flow! 

Rest, rest, Silver Lake, in thy nest 

Confessed ! 

No storms, but the sunshine above 

Shall love; 

The clouds in the deep for thy bed, 

The trees for thy pillow, the sky overhead. 

Rest, rest Silver Lake, in thy nest. 

Confessed ! 



67 



LINES AND LINES 

Just a paper scribbled o'er, — 
Baby's tracings; nothing more. 
Just a letter from a son 
Outward bound ; the years swift run. 
Just a letter from a friend ; — 
Beneath the lines a mystic trend. 
Just a letter from a lover 
Homeward bound to greet the other. 
Just a letter from a wife, — 
Elixir for worry, strife. 
Just a letter by a friend 
Stamped in black ; the letters end. 

THE LITTLE BOOT 

I wonder if this little boot 

Can tell a tale ? I fear it may ! 
Were I but sure it could not tell 

I'm sure I'd tell it; I would say — 
But, then, I know not! Lest it should. 

Should tell the tale — its import leak- 
ril say but this: upon its tip 

I pressed the same as on your cheek. 
Should ever it the fact disclose. 

And say my love I there displayed, 
Remember, 'twas because that, once, 

It held thy pretty foot, dear maid. 

TO THE NEW YEAR 

Like a new born babe at the mother's breast, 
Like an unfledged bird in the swaying nest,- 
Who, can tell of the days to be ? 
Who, can fathom the mystery? 
Neither you nor I 
Till the by-and-by. 

68 



To-day bright hopes, — the moon afloat, 

With the stars to light the way 

Through the purple depths, to the wondrous note 

That the sister planets play : 

To-morrow eclipse. With faith filled eyes, 

We will fathom the depths of the boundless skies 

And view the perfect day ! 

DREAM LIFE 

When down the western dome the sun 
Smiles out the day with hope begun ; 

When gilded clouds hang o'er the west 

Horizon's rim, the mountain crest; 
When twilight's calm enfolds the earth. 
And weary man seeks his home hearth; 

O, then, my heart a-homeward bent 

A moment revels in content. 

O, blissful hour! O, blessed life. 
Removed from all this earth-born strife; 

Peace folds me in her robe of ease ; 

Faith chants innocent harmonies: 
The father's arm protects, defends; 
The mother's smile its courage lends; 

While all the earth and sea and sky 

Rain symphonies for ear and eye. 

Care drops her load : Grief smiles relief : 
Doubt withers, dies : while blooms Belief. 
The heart, opened to God and Truth, 
Grows buoyant, confident forsooth; 
And I, I feel again the touch 
Of dreamy throngs I loved so much; 
Of faces, forms ; of sound or scene 
That drifts the past and now between. 
Dream on, my soul, as daylight dies ; 
Seek not to know life's mysteries. 

69 



EVENING THOUGHTS 

Only a day, a step, I pray, 
For to-morrow I may not be ; 

The vessel that glints with full sails set 
To-morrow I may not see, 
Sailing away to some foreign port. 

Bearing its surplus store; 
Or drifting in with the tide to bring 

My heart to me once more. 
Only a step, a step, I pray, 
And I will contented be. 

FATHER 

"A noble Roman," sang the bard : 
I say that he whose praise I pen 
Of earth's most valiant, loyal men 
Is peer, — or better. His the hard. 
The thorny road ; yet e'er on guard. 
Brave soldier, he truth's battles fight 
For God and man; for faith and right. 

MY VALENTINE 

To thee, my love, whose eyes are bright 

As star's light on a winter's night; 

Whose mouth, a crimson cupid's bow. 

Tempts me — as flower the bee — to know 

The nectar hid ; oh, sweetheart mine. 

Let me be e'er thy valentine. 

The earth will blossom 'neath my feet. 

The spring-flower haste the morn to greet, 

If thou wilt be 

Eternally 

My heart-loved, cherished valentine ; 

Through all years, wife, my valentine. 

70 



SPIRIT LIFE 

(A fragment — To my wife) 

If the eyes were dimmed that have fired hope 

At the altar of faithless trust ; 

If courageous might were dead, what scope 

For that hope? O, dust to dust, 

Speak not to the heart of the broken reed, 

Where famine and failure and pestilence feed ! 

If the voice that cheered In the days agone. 
When the blasts fell fierce and wild. 
Were hushed in the grave, and I alone 
Trod on in the gloaming wild ; 
What song could I sing ? what hymn of praise 
Could my dead heart chant, could my numb lipj 
raise ? 

If the lips were dumb that have called me, Love, 
And the cheek's soft bloom had fled ; 
Were their fresh young life but a spirit dove, 
Were their strengthening impulse dead ; 
What were left to me in this stygian world. 
Were the wings of my Spirit Love close furled ! 



71 



VESPER CHIMES 



THE EVERLASTING RIGHT 

Where nature sings 
And care take wings, 

Where cooling water, sparkling, springs; 
Where violets vie 
With bending sky, 

While laughing breeze goes fluttering by ; 

Or leafy shade, 
Or moonlit glade, 

Where fairies dance to music made 
On moonbeams bright. 
Through starry night, 

In dreamland, I my songs indite. 

A song I'd sing; 

My faith would wing; 

From finite death I'd purge the sting: 
Pure peace should dwell ; 

And time would tell 

The boundless good of life lived well. 

For naught of fears 

Would haunt the years, 

Where courage dwells till dawn appears. 
Faith, mighty soul. 
Should seize control 

And gird the earth from pole to pole. 

God's peace should reign 
O'er earth's domain. 

The ploughshare turn the fertile plain ; 
And in the light 
Of morning bright, 

I'd chant the Everlasting Right. 



75 



OVER THE WAY 

"Over the way," I heard It said : 

It dwelt In my memory, drifting on, 
Over the way, In my dreaming led, 

Wandering far the hills upon, 
Over, over the way. 

There were flowers there In their perfume sweet; 

The violet smiled, and the lily white 
Looked out In Its Innocence to greet 

The sheen of the land In Its dazzling light, 
Over, over the way. 

Buds were blossoming flowers there ; 

And flowers were luscious, golden fruits; 
And tears were pearls and jewels fair; 

And sighs were music from silver lutes. 
Over, over the way. 

And friends were friends In that land of song; 

And lovers loved but one and true ; 
And pleasures on wings came drifting along. 

And halted and dwelt In that fuller view. 
Over, over the way. 

There's naught of sadness and never a tear; 
But joy, and beauty, and hope, and love; 
There's rest for the labor, and strength for the fear, 
And peace for the trouble, and Christ above, 
Over, over the way. 

O! come, weary heart, and journey with me; 
Let drop the mere baubles of earth's changeful 
night: 
Beyond Is the day, by the fair crystal sea. 
There constancy, love, truth, and heart-rest Invite, 
Over, over the way. 

76 



SOME GLAD DAY 

Some day I shall not wonder at the mists about my 

way, 
But rest secure in haven, — O, happy, perfect day! 
The weary, wretched heartache in the future cleared 

away. 

Sometime the eyelids biting with the half-suppressed 

tears 
That scald the budding longings which had crept 

through hopeful years 
In eyes, will lift victorious o'er weak'ning palsing 

fears. 

Some day! Oh, perfect jewel, when the rest we've 

sought is ours! 
Some day to tread the by-ways by whisp'ring rills, 

o'er flowers 
That yield their life's sweet perfume to our sense in 

soothing showers ! 

Oh, perfect day! beneath thy skies, I fain would 
breath my soul 

In mystic music's hallowed lays, speaking Divine 
control ; 

I long to strike the chords of peace and swell the an- 
them's roll. 

O! Christ, with life's fierce battle round us, be our 

present might; 
That we for faith and honor may conquer in the 

fight, 
Our souls ablaze with valor ; Thy cause our cause — 

The Right! 



77 



LINES ON THE DEATH OF A FRIEND— 
(J. B. R.) 

I ope'd the letter, read the fatal word, 
Dead ! in the prime of life, the very prime. 

I thought of all the heartaches, tears absurd 
To try to quench the glow, recall the time 

When life-blood coursed through this pale, heatless 
frame 
And gave to clay a dear remembered name. 

What now is all the struggle, all the toil 

That plead for years to cull the fruit of youth ? 
What but the marble shaft can foil 

The aim of time? What? Worth and love and 
truth ; 
Those precepts given; those lessons taught and 
learned ; 
Those lives he led, — the weed to fruitage turned. 

Naught, naught is lost ! What he has been lives on, 
On through the years to lift and stem the tide. 

Age to the front where victory he won ; 

Then crossed the borderland in heaven*s peace to 
bide. 

Though through our days must run a minor chord, 
He is not dead — Communing with his Lord. 

So friends, weep not; 'tis not like those who sleep 
The sleep of death that has no radiant morn. 

When down the slope of life's pathway a-steep 
We to our rest go tottering, aborne 

Onward, his spirit ours shall wait to greet. 

Trust 'tis the best; the Lord hath judged it mete. 



78 



AN EXTRACT 

When I am alone, 
And the house is dark, 
And the way seems long, I would give it o'er ; 
When down to the tide of the sea I go. 
And my bark pushes out in the mellow glow 
Of the sunset fair; or dark'ning o'er 
The sky in the gloam, 
Around my bark ; 

I wonder who 
Will the boatman be 
When I take my journey across the tide. 
When I reach that land will I be alone? 
Or will the friends who have thither gone 
Be waiting beyond the sea to bide 
My coming through 
To welcome me? 

WHEN CARRIE CAME! 

When Carrie came! 

O, what sweet jo}'^. 

When heaven's gates, unbarred. 

Flung back their doors, 

And one sweet ray 

Of heaven's blue 

Fell full on me! 

When Carrie came 
The days were jewels rare; 
The cloudless sky 
In azure blue above 
Oped wide her eye of day 
And smiled her joy. 
At night in depths of blue 
The stars — forget-me-nots — 
Added their vows. 
79 



When Carrie came 
The murmuring streamlet vied 
In song the nightingale ; 
The lark welled forth her lay 
With throbbing, bursting heart, 
And I In rapture bound 
Felt all my being thrill. 

When Carrie came 
I knew the touch of love , 
And felt the mists of morn 
Break, flee at touch of her 
Soft, gentle hand. 

When Carrie came 
I dreamed of leaves and flowers. 
And cool, sequestered spots 
Where shadows fell but to 
Revive the dropping flowers 
To court the honey-bee. 

When Carrie came 
The warm south breeze 
From dreamland drifted free, 
And bore with It the scent 
Of bloom, of budding life — 
The Incense of heart-song — 
And calm, — tranquillity. 

When Carrie came 
The days but left a glow ; 
For scarcely born were they 
Till sunset bade good-night; 
While loving, dreaming, we 
Were drifting far away 
Beyond life's ceaseless beat 
Of pain, in imaged bliss. 

80 



When Carrie came 

O, wealth of joy? 

O, incense for the weak ! 

O, balm! her soulful kiss! 

O, pressure of those arms 

That round my neck 

Made care but feathers, blown 

I know not where ; 

And joys so real, 

One full forgot his pain. 

When Carrie came 

I bowed me down, 

And from my heart 

Rose a thanksgiving song. 

Earth then was near to heav'n ; 

And we beneath the skies 

Felt gliding safely on. 

To that fair haven borne. 

With cares as rippling breeze 

To flap in vain our sail. 

When Carrie came 
A haven opened wide; 
And just beyond we viewed 
Our peaceful home of rest. 
We here would live and love ; 
And when, at last, time's bell 
Tolled either to that shore, 
He there would wait above 
And, sad, the moments tell 
Till joined forever. 



8i 



WHEN CARRIE DIED 

When Carrie died 
They knotted up her hair 
And clad her snowy form 
In full, soft ermine robes. 

When Carrie died 
They filled her bier with flowers, 
They covered it — a mound 
Of white and lily tongues. 

When Carrie died 
We heard the preacher say 
She just had gone before: — 
Our hearts sighed to be there. 

When Carrie died 
They laid her form to rest 
Beneath the hawthorne shade, 
And planted flowrets there. 

When Carrie died 
Each went to his own home 
With sorrow-laden heart; 
But each had done his part. 

tIv tIt 'It tJv Tf^ 7 

When Carrie died! 
I heard my spirit cry. 
And knew that all was o'er 
When Carrie died. 

When Carrie died, 
The days with purpling joys 
Were shades from Tartarus 
When Carrie died. 

82 



When Carrie died! 
I kissed the dead, cold lips ; 
I pressed the pulseless hand, 
When Carrie died, 

When Carrie died ! 
What cared I for the flowers, 
What, I, for pomp and show, 
When Carrie died. 

When Carrie died ! 

I stole Into the room 

With careful tread, and prayed- 

When Carrie died. 

When Carrie died 
My heart was broken ; I 
Lost then my love of life — 
When Carrie died . 

When Carrie died! 
My soul with weary pace 
Traveled o'er frozen wastes 
When Carrie died. 

When Carrie died! 
From out the dark despair 
One star alone dared break 
When Carrie died. 

When Carrie died 
Her spirit came in dreams 
And bade me follow hers — 
When Carrie died. 

When Carrie died! 
'Tis here I wait and long 
And trust ; but live above 
Where Carrie lives! 

83 



THE NEAR-BY FAR-AWAY 

Pet came to me in her innocent play 
And asked me the meaning of Far-Away. 
I told her the "nows" in a trice must be 
The toys of the past ; the days set free > 
Flee back and back — we view through our tears 
The wrecks on the beach, for years and years. 
Now these, ail these where our thoughts once lay, 
We count in the limitless Far-Away. 

"And what is the meaning," she said with a sigh, 
"Of the land that they call by the name Near-By?" 
"The Near-By Land, my dear," said I, 
"Is the 'now,' *to-day,' 'to-morrow' — near-by; 
But the near-by, ever, and far-away, 
Join hands — for the passage is but a day 
That divides the laughter and tears we shed 
From the cherished dreams of our buried dead." 

I might have known that, to her, the past 
Had caught but a day from the future vast; 
That no Far-Away shed its afterglow 
On the rippling rills and the rivers of snow; 
On the broken shards in the pierced hearts. 
On the tenantless hopes in voiceless marts. 

I might have known that the Near-By Land, 

Though charming, held no castles grand ; 

That her hopes must rest in a future, clad 

In the garments she wove, with its various plaid 

Devices ; she must live to-day 

In the land of the Near-By Far-Away, 

The heart-cherished Near-By Far-Away. 



84 



THE HOMELAND 



O, MY LOVED ONE! 

O, my loved one! O, my darling! 
Bring me to thee, draw me to thee 
From the love of earth, and parling 
With dim shadow^s, — draw me, bring me ; 
In thy kingdom full of brightness, 
Full of truth and honor, hide me, 
Lest earth's pomp and dazzling glamor 
Blind my mortal vision ; bide thee 
In His hallowed presence, teaching 
Me the songs of alleluiah. 
Through the mighty ages reaching. 
Singing Beulah, Vale of Beulah ! 

O, my sainted mother, — ours 
Visit us in spirit, keep us 
Faithful to thy loving precepts j 
Shower smiles of courage on us; 
Walk beside us in earth's pathway; 
Sainted mother, keep our tired, 
Wayward feet upon that pathway. 
Bridging hopeless longings earthly 
To the better land, the holy 
Land of Eden, Vale of Beulah! 

O, my precious love from childhood. 
First to whom my wandering eyeballs 
Turned in wondering, quivering glances; 
Who — the first to whom to prattle 
"Mamma," thou my shrine most holy; 
"Mamma," — thou the first to guide my 
Feet, the first and last to listen 
To the oft repeated grievance 
Swelling little aching, breaking 
Heart, thy bosom softest pillow! 



87 



Cool Siloam's shady fountain 
Not so restful as thy night song: 
Lullaby — from child to manhood ; 
Lullaby — success or failure ; 
Lullaby — till Jesus called you 
Home to rest you, dearheart mother. 
Stop we may not; rest we must not; 
Life must live, though we would linger 
In the dear, dead past, earth's Beulah, 
Dreaming of that Eden Beulah 
Where thou livest evermore to 
Praise thy God and Him who led thee 
Into pastures green, by living 
Waters murmuring alleluiah! 



HOME 

It may be sunlight, leafy shades, 

Where zephyrs call through verdant blades; 
Or stretch of burning sand before 
The rough-hewn log-built cabin's door: 

Where'er the heart's fond dreams find rest, 

There is the heart's home, truest, best. 

My home ! A level stretch of lands 
To southward, where the roadway bands; 
To north the rising slope of ground — 
My childhood's feet the summit found, 
And from the hilltops, far away 
My hopes took wing, — my spirit's day. 

No more to sordid cares I tie 

My strength, for sunbeams underlie 

The blankest depths of misery; 

And spirit forces bow the knee 
To him who aims and wills to do 

And does his best, life's end in view. 

88 



But childhood's dreams are powers intense 

To mould the future; innocence 
And nature's book and God behind 
The hand and heart and soul and mind 

To counsel, cheer, to bend and lead : 

O, God and home are kings indeed ! 

So, praise to home! My full heart sing 
Thy blessing; happy tribute bring! 

And Thou, O, God, Who it and me 

Hath moulded for eternity, 
Grant that the dream of childhood's days 
May blessings be upon my way I 

UNCLE ADAM AND GOOD AUNT JANE 

I love to repeat it again and again, 
Dear Uncle Adam and good Aunt Jane. 
For Uncle Adam a boy's heart knows. 
And Aunt Jane's face with sunshine glows. 
O, I love to dream through life's sun and rain 
Of Uncle Adam and dear Aunt Jane! 

By the house of Uncle Adam, it runs — 

Asleep in the shadow, a blinking 'neath sun — 

The Connegogig, — 'tis an Indian name — 

By willows and sycamores, tosses its mane 

Where it flows round the bend ; there the breakers it 

beat 
To a frothy white foam in the midsummer heat. 

When the snows of the winter the meadow lands 

fold, 
In the icy north breeze, the dark waters grow cold ; 
And a pale ashen hue marks the bed of the stream, 
While the skaters o'er death dash away like a gleam, 
A glint of the morning, happy faces aglow 
With the pleasure of life, 'fore the blinding grief's 

woe. 

89 



The meadow lands, rich with the fruits of the soil, 
Speak heartiest cheer when earned rest follows toil ; 
The windrows of hay waft perfume to my sense ; 
Crisp ripe golden grain bulges out through the fence ; 
While the rank growing corn in its coat of dark 

green 
Breathes life in the ear in this midsummer scene. 

O, the pure happy home-life, the peace and content, 
The hours taking wing like a day spending, spent! 
Or like clouds of soft amber that dazzle the west 
With a halo of beauty, — so gladness caressed 
With smiles the dear home-nest, fair circled around 
With a wealth of June roses, a clustering mound. 

O, sad that the brightest of flowers must fade ! 
That the frost nips the bud ! That the stream in the 

glade 
Must chant to deaf ears when the winter has come! 
That the earth to the pulse of creation is dumb ! 
O, sad that the hearts that are peaceful to-day 
Must ache — shattered dreams of to-morrow! — al- 

way ! 

To this haven. Contentment, came a stranger un- 
known. 
Furled the sails of his craft, trod the landing alone ; 
But when darkness had folded the arrows of day, 
Two forms softly entered the boat in the bay. 
One glanced, with a sigh, on the sorrows he left 
In those hearts void and chill, breaking, broken, 
bereft. 

But he smiled as he turned, for the Boatman of 

Death 
Was the Angel of Life ; and like perfume the breath 
From the land just beyond, — now nearer, now here, 
'Neath the feet of the toilers; the crystal stream 
clear, 

90 



Reflected no fever-worn, earth-bitten face, 

For the smile of the Lord ever gladdens that place. 

But they, — O, I sigh when I think of their grief ; 
Uncle Adam, Aunt Jane find in nothing relief : 
Naught of earth can assuage; heaven only can bring 
Resignation to those who have felt the barbed sting 
Of the arrow that wounds where the hearts fondest 

love 
Has been centered, and hope for joys laid up above. 

So, though Grief spreads her wings above those dear 

forms, 
Since the threatening cloudlands in fierce blinding 

storms 
Have broken, to blight with the black frost the 

wealth 
Of the promising bloom in its first blush of health. 
In sadness, I whisper the old, loved refrain : 
Dear Uncle Adam and precious Aunt Jane ! 
Poor Uncle Adam ! broken-hearted Aunt Jane ! 

DO I LIKE PIE 

Yes; I'm specially fond of the sweet-pumpkin pies; 
There's something about them to dry a man's eyes; 
It may be the spices — an old man's whim — 
Or the crispness of pastry, the brittle brown rim ; 
But I know that I frequently see in my dreams 
Countless rows of hot pies floating down crystal 
streams. 

Yes; I'm specially fond of the apple-pie; 

There's a juiciness 'bout it, — or tell me I lie. 

It may be the taste that in childhood I grew 

For the smoke-house, the baldwin, and green-pippin, 

too; 
But I know when I shut both my mouth and my eyes 
That pie from a hundred "society" pies. 

91 



Yes' I'm specially fond of the sweet juicy mince; 

In its spicy aroma I revel a prince — 

No trouble to dream when it's mince pie, you know ; 

But I reckon the pleasure of eating it, though. 

Is enough to 'pay fiddler' ; — I'll risk it each time, 

Cold or hot, spring or fall, or in brisk wintertime. 

But — the turn-over-pie ! let It be what It will, 
I care not — since made like my mother — for still 
In my memory dwells the days of my youth, 
When she packed my lunch-basket with dainties; for- 
sooth, I 
It was nuggets of love that she stuffed in the pies 
That I ate; ever since they're the pride of my eyes. 

Oh, mother! 'Tis not childhood's pies that I crave. 
Since you lie 'neath the daisies; your turf-rounded 

grave 
Speaks a mount of regret I should ever have been 
Unkind to the loving heart silenced within. 
And I sigh — do you know it, dear mother above? — 
For a glimpse in this world like your true mother- 
love. 

VIOLET 

(To my wife) 

She may not be what others call 

A fairy little creature; 
But this I know, she's dear to me — 

An all important feature; — 
She is not blonde, no golden hair; 

I only know to me she's fair, 
A dear, true. Christian woman. 



While others prate of form petite 
And sylphlike step and airy, 



92 



I love to think of helpful feet 

And willing heart to cheer me. 
To see the smile, to feel the touch 

That makes me know I love her much ; 
Because she's good and human. 

Others may covet rank or gold ; — 

Doubtless but brazen metal ! — 
I'd rather own the heart I hold, 

Trust e'er to love to settle: 
Sweeter to hear her say "I love," 

Than drink the dregs — the froth above — 
In bitter, long repentance. 

While you may live in palace hall 
And dream your dreams of glory, 

I ask to dwell in simple style 
And live the dear "old story;" 

I pray for us but health and strength, 

Trusting to God life's breadth and length. 

To end in His acceptance. 

BECAUSE WE ARE GOING BACK HOME 

Because we are going back home, 

The days that are filled with cares 
Are cheerfully borne and with their weight scarce 
known. 

For the soul on that paradise fares ; 
And the sunshine is filled with the wealth of the 
wine 

In the luscious ripe clusters of fruit on the vine 
In the old garden plot, where as children we played, 

In the summer days of the echoing past. 
By the brink of the brook, in the lithe willows' shade. 

We're going — we're going back home! 

Because we are going back home ! 

The long winding road through the glade 

93 



All filled with the scent of the thousand of flowers 
And cooled with the dim shadows made 

By the waving of elms and the fluttering of birds ; — ■ 

My heart's love is touched with the thought of the 
words : — 

O, what do we care for the tares and the snares, 
Harvests of regrets we have sown! 

We're living again in the Eden of Rest,— 
We're going — we're going back home! 

Because we are going back home, 

Just because we are going back home, 
Our hearts have drawn nearer the throne in prayer, 

For the forms where our thoughts ever roam. 
There are tears of joy in the beaming eyes; 

The heart is bursting with glad home cries ; 
There'll be joy in our souls and songs on our lips 

When free with our loved ones we roam, 
In the summers of bliss, on the river of rest, 

Just because we are going back home. 
Because we are going back home. 

THE SUMMER LAND 

To-day I live in the summer land, 

In the echoing clime of the long ago. 
Where memories' land marks stately stand, 

And the shimmering sunbeams come and go. 

The orchard shade and the open lea ; 

The cattle lowing behind the hill ; 
The busy hum of the honey bee ; 

The luscious berries, the red stone mill. 

The lengthening shadows that slowly creep 
Upon the stubble and fallow ground ; 

The cornblades rustle along the steep ; 

The yellow pumpkins; the baying hound. 

94 



The barn doors burst with the treasure stored, 
The golden harvest of leaf and grain ; 

The bins are laden with richest hoard 
Of apple russets and crimson stain. 

No more for me is the soothing sound 
Of merry harvesters homeward bent; 

When the shadows steal o'er the lawn and mound, 
I may but dream of the harvest scent. 

In the early morn and the noontide hour 
I wrestle with questions of right and wrong; 

I fight the battle for gain and power, 
Forgetting the musical vesper-song. 

But oft in the stilly and quiet eve, 

The voice of the past comes soft and low ; 

Through the wavering shadows that incense leave, 
The past drifts in with the mellow glow. 

I live again in the summer-land 

With its flowers and fruits, its bees and birds; 
Its balmy breezes, — youths' lovelit strand — 

And listen to home's dear words. 

The past is past, but memories live; 

And I cherish the days for me no more; 
I work and trust that the future give 

Some gems from the summer shore. 

FAIR JEWEL 

It Is not living — simply being, 

Since our little Irma died ; 
When the frost has nipped the flower. 

Dies the stem, its life allied. 
Suns may smile — augmented brightness — 

On some hardier bloom, but we 

95 



Miss our treasure, shivering, longing — 
Sigh but for eternity. 

Treasured : little socks and dresses 

Neatly mended, tear-bedewed ; 
Hood of scarlet, tie of azure; 

Shoes in corner snugly stood, 
Just where she that evening left them 

When she knelt at my proud knee : 
"Now I — lay me . . . Dod, please bless them, 

Mamma, Papa, Kittie, me." 

O, the hour our sunshine faded 

Into dawn of other day ! 
Crib is folded, eyes are blinded. 

Books and toys are put away; 
Little bits of glass and pebbles. 

Thumb-marked pictures, drawings done 
By the dainty, dimpled fingers 

While those happy hours run. 

O, the days that lengthen, lengthen. 

Shadow-framed, swept fierce by storm ! 
God, thy mercy, it must keep us. 

Since on earth we've lost her form. 
Down the wind-swept, rugged causeway 

Guide our steps Thy face to see ; 
Comfort us and bless ! O, heartache ! 

Bring us soon to her and Thee. 

TWO YEARS AGO! 

Two years ago ! Ah, blissful days, 

All steeped in love's enchanting maze! 

Like honey fruit in honey dipped ; 

Like dreams of days when feet have tripped 

To music sweet ; like summer's glow, 

The warm flush ! Just two years ago ! 

96 



Two years ago ! Then heaven swung 

Her gates ajar and perfume flung 

Around my heart ; for to ft came ' 

A spirit's touch, and earth became 

A realm for love and duty's deeds, 

Of faith and trust; where striving leads. 

Two years ago ! O, Sun of June, 

Touch earth's best chords and swell the tune! 

Two years ago ! O, Queen of Night, 

Melt rugged forms in silver light! 

Two years ago! O, Earth and Sea, 

Put on your fairest ! Join the glee ! 

Two years ago ! But yesterday 
It seems to me I learned the lay 
Love taught my soul two years ago! 
The song in never ceasing flow 
Sings on and charms the days to hours, 
The years to days, the thorns to flowers. 

What though the tempest threatens life. 
The life lives on ! What though the strife 
Of battle fall, the victor's crown 
Must point the goal and win renown ! 
What though beneath the load I fall, 
Should some one heed my warning call! 

Two years ago ! Two years ago ! 

Soon in our lives the driving snow 

Heaped high, and fought with gasping breath 

To fold in grasping arms of death 

The form I love ; but heaven's smile 

Was radiant on us afterwhile. 

And so we live with love to yield 

Us sweets from hymen's garden field; 



97 



For eyes to speak of love that lies 
Where only healthful trust descries. 
While earth and sea and heaven wear 
A crown for us all passing fair. 

Ah, blissful days! Ah, hallowed days! 
That live as dreams of dreamy lays 
Sung soft and low, and sparkling bright 
As dewdrops hung in morning's light; 
As twilight falling in the glow 
Of summer sun — Two Years Ago. 

WEE FEET 

O, the patter, patter, patter of the chubby little feet ! 
O, the lips of cherub beauty, honeyladen, mine to 

meet! 
The dancing light within the eyes — our sparkling 

rose-bud sweet ! 

"O, papa, papa!" In my arms I clasp my dainty girl. 
"I love you, papa dear," she says; I kiss each chestnut 

curl 
That screens the ears of pearl and round my fingers 

fondly twirl. 

"And you, you love your Irma?" "Ay, yes; God only 

knows. 
My dear, how much ;" I gently touch our dainty 

sweet wild rose. 
"How much! How much!" our hearts repeat from 

morn till even's close. 

But now no more we feel the touch of clinging lit- 
tle hands; 

God needed her, reclaimed the loan ; across the bar- 
ren sands 

We feel the winds blow piercing chill; see dim the 
haven lands. 

98 



''Dear papa, Irma's sick," she wrote; "pain, head, 

tomick; home shoon." 
I was away — O, Christ the day to darkness turned 

from noon! 
And left us in this vale of grief to live our afternoon. 

Oh, little dimpled fingers, could you lie within our 
own, 

How light would grow life's burdens! — ^What har- 
vests we had sown! — 

But God reclaimed ; and we will trust, although our 
hearts make moan. 

MY CUMBERLAND— A FRAGMENT 

My Cumberland ! Fair valley famed 
By mountains blue, — the vision foiled 
By distance — or, the nearer green ; 
With peaks and passes, pines and firs. 
Or maple, oak and chestnut trimmed 
In nature's strange and varied forms; 
The sun aslant, his searching beams 
Espy beneath the copse the stream 
At hide-and-seek ; the mossy bank 
Gleams fresh with diamond drops of dew, 
The tell-tale marks of kisses pressed 
By silver wavelets of the tide. 

Above, the jutting crag transfixed 
Between the green and azure blue, 
A massive giant, hoary, old, 
A weary from the bufletings 
Of centuries of storm and cold; 
Yet lifting up his noble form. 
And for to-day in sunshine clad. 
Basking in peace, in golden rays. 
Perchance he heard the mandate given, 
When God from out the darkness called 
The twinkling stars, the moon, the sun. 

99 



Old ocean thundered at his feet 
When youth and he stood hand in hand 
Upon the beach — the ancient strand 
A-stretching inland years ago, 
Before the age of glacial snow. 

There, deep within the valley pressed, 

Dim, winding from the upland wood, 

A single track — the haunts of men 

Below — shaded, the tiny flower 

Stretching its floss like, milk white neck 

To catch the flitting sunbeam's kiss. 

From overhanging bows of green 

The sweeping vines wave cooling shade; 

The lizard slips beneath the trunk 

Of ancient monarch long laid low. 

No sound of bird, but here and there 

A glint athwart the pulsing air 

Of silver wing. The azure sky 

Above asleep — the blinking sun, 

Unveiled his charms, a sturdy child 

Of fair creation's progeny; 

Of shredded gold, afloat within 

The sea of never ending blue 

Some phantom clouds, that seem like dreams 

Of dreams we dreamed in childhood's day. 

Flit; or, like floating castle ships 

We built to sail our summer seas 

We ever know were just beyond, 

Where zephyrs lull the waves to sleep. 

MY LITTLE LOVE 

I wonder does she speak of me ; 
What dreams she this fair eventide; 

I wonder if in fancy free, 
She builds her future pride ; 

Or, does she dream of days of bliss, 

Of joy and peace and happiness? 

100 



When shadows grow across the mould ; 
When twilight falls in mellow haze ; 

When yester's echoes o'er are told 
In dreamy thought and mystic lays ; 

When onward rolls the tide of years, 

Comes to thee, Love, its promised cheer? 

Do you in dreams recount the sighs, 
And feel the kisses pressed upon 

Your ruby lips ? Do lovelit eyes 
Shine full of faith into your own ? 

Do shadows flee, and summer's sun 

After the showers pleasures run ? 

Do other eyes but speak the loss 
You feel that some one absent is ? 

When breezes, kissing warmly, toss 
Your raven tresses, dream you 'tis 

His soulful lips that touch the tress. 

That breathes your only happiness ? 

When lily opes her golden shrine, 
Do other days and other songs 

That all the past with love entwine 
Come drifting, drifting, happy throngs? 

Do smiles, caresses fondly cheer, 

Bind to the past the coming year ? 

Love, come they thus as to me come 
Thy every word and glance and kiss? 

For me the golden sunset's home 
Is birth of dreams in realms of bliss, 

As thus I gaze upon the hue 

Of dying day, and dream of you. 



lOI 



MY BEST 

I've often wished, — alas! 'tis true — 
For something lofty, great, to do, 
Forgetting that my duty owes 
To do the very ''bes' I knows." 

Poor little Tobe ! well may they tell 
Thy story ; write the deed done well. 
Thou, seeing clear thy duty, did 
Thy humble task as thou wast bid. 

Thy life-blood, noble boy, I see; 
It marks my duty plain for me, 
Thy wistful, plaintive, honest "best" 
Was all was asked : 'twill give me rest. 

If only I could fully learn 
To give the mite ; my place, my turn, 
In life to take, to breath a prayer 
For other's burdens hard to bear. 

If only I would lend a hand 
To point him how to understand 
The signals of a clouded way 
Full treacherous as mine to-day. 

Life is not hard when joy and peace 
Attend upon the downy fleece- 
Lined couch of ease, — to live one's days 
In feasting, drinking, folly's glaze. 

Ah, no! The Hand that bade the breath 
Of life to triumph over death 
Decreed that he who bread would eat, 
His face must sweat his brow must beat. 



1 02 



"The sluggard shall in harvest beg; 
His game unroasted, on the peg 
Hang; while his soul shall famish, faint, 
And die, of all accursed, attaint!" 

But he who, loving God and man. 

Does ever this: The best he can, — 

He, when the victory is won 

For heaven, will hear the blessed 'Well Done^ 

(Thinking of "Tobe" in "Tobe's Monument.") 



103 



FALSELY ACCUSED 

You ask me for my story, the first, the last to hear 
From lips of mine its tragedy; the smile must e'er 

appear. 
For people must be pleased, you know ; at sympathy 

they play 
A game of hide-and-seek, the same, old oft-repeated 

way. 

They say, "How sad! How very sad!" they drop 

their eyelids, (red 
With rubbing of their kerchiefs) feign tears they 

never shed ; 
I hear their faint endeavors, to shun what they would 

'shy; 
I look, and, seeing, see not the pure, true, for the lie. 

But what the use expecting what hearts will never 

give? 
Alone I tread life's pathway ; alone I think and live. 
For when, at len2;th, hope dies within the heart, — 

O, walls of clay! — 
We are alone ; alone we tread the bleak unsheltered 

way. 

Before the will of the heaven had closed the eye of 

living day 
Upon my path, we wandered life's sweet, winding, 

beaten way; 
We had our days of gladness, with touches of the 

pain 
That sprinkles hopes with teardrops, — the sunshine 

and the rain. 



104 



My husband, I, our baby! Why need we mind the 

showers 
That cloud the earth, — In mercy, since they revive 

the flowers? 
And as from out the darkness of heavy veiled day 
Sunshine bursts forth, our trials melted like mists 

away. 

Like clouds ! — O, dreams of childhood ! O, fleecy, 

white-winged birds 
Afloat in heaven's azure! O, imaged shapes, what 

words 
Can paint thy radiant glory of mystic life to sense ! 
While ever back of thee there dwells the veiled blue 

— Innocence ! 

We praised the Lord for sunshine; we bore the 

drooping shade; 
Each eve we gathered up the crumbs of peace our 

union made; 
'Twas pleasure just to know how each to other's 

heart bore love ; 
'Twas sweet to rest In dwelling on the joys laid up 

above. 



105 



THE MESSENGER 

First came the messenger one day from out the dark- 

'ning west 
To summons our dear baby-girl, — to desolate our 

nest; 
The day had dawned In brightness from a night of 

calm repose, 
How should I dream such blackness could hide the 

even's close? 

O, I am worn and weary a-watching light and shade ; 
Life's footlights faint agllmmer; cheeks oft of roses 

made : 
Applause or scorn, I care not, for hope In life has 

fled; 
I work to live, since life is mine, while longing to be 

dead. 

But, to my story. Yesterday it seems my baby cooed 

Upon my breast; my husband, still lover, loving, 
wooed. 

With eyes of brown that smiled In mine their vol- 
ume of desire, 

To meet in mine — O, love divine ! — the same heav'n 
chastened fire! 

Our baby cooed ; then prattled ; then Its first intelli- 
gence 

Revealed In words, — our bonny girl — the surri of ex- 
cellence ! 

Her heart, our hearts — two, three in one; a unified 
content 

Within its bounds all glories caught the heavens in 
extent. 



1 06 



One day I left my baby in an upper room to play, 
With grandma, sitting, napping in her accustomed 

way. 
Dear grandma! little Daisy! How they loved each 

other's smile! 
Dear grandma ! since that morning no light your lips 

beguile ! 

I in the room beneath them, housewife, was at my 

task; 
My heart adrift, though saddened, could not forsee 

the mask 
Fate holds before death's angel, lest human eyes him 

see; 
I dreamed of happy days apast, — the joys now dead 

to me. 

I heard a cry from baby; could it be she — where? 

where ? 
I turned me toward the window — to see her cleave 

the air ; 
One instant in my vision, a flash ; a dainty form ! 
O, heavens shield from mothers' hearts this blinding, 

bitter storm! 

I stood, my thoughts transfixed, my heart pierced 

with the pain of death ; 
It died that moment, broken by baby's gasping breath. 
They lifted up our baby from the cruel asphalt 

block ; 
They placed the lifeless clay within my nerveless 

arms; — why mock? 

For where was that dear cherub smile which caught 
beneath its glance 

The heart's best wishes, fondest dreams, and long- 
ings in advance? 



107 



Where pink and white the rosy cheeks to breathe of 
life and hope? 

The ruddy lips with kiss for kiss ? O, changeful horo- 
scope ! 

From out the window where her form had dropped 
that luckless morn, — 

The grandma napping in her chair — my fairy treas- 
ure torn — 

My hopes took wing, for he I loved had died a liv- 
ing death 

Three years before; ay! breathing now the damp, 
foul prison's breath. 



COMDEMNED 

O, law! when just, how righteous! when faulty, 
hearts that ache 

In silence — no recourse, since law is law — must sure- 
ly break; 

I try to feel that sacrifice in end must bear reward ; 

'Tis hard, the lesson, — innocence to fall beneath the 
sword. 

Foul murder had been done they said; demanded 

author's death ; 
My husband's life the stake, for he had seen the 

fleeting breath : 
His employer one morn was found by him upon the 

floor ; 
He raised the dying man, — too late — ^was found; 

guilty, they swore. 

They said the evidence was plain, conclusive; but I 

say: 
God knows his heart was free from thought of injury 

that day. 

io8 



There had been words some days before, but words 

and deeds are two ; 
And thoughts of guilt or deeds of blood he knew not, 

— never knew. 

Condemned! to hang? But God who knows, knew 
all, and this much gave: 

My husband should not die the death; imprison- 
ment, his grave. 

And judge and jury fed their souls by granting this 
poor boon ; 

The press the mercy deprecated ; fiends die none too 
soon. 

IMPRISONMENT 

Alone ! God pity those who dwell within this region 
wild 

And seared and scathed with blasting winds, since 
hope has but beguiled ! 

Alone! who knows what tender hearts and loving 
e'er must feel 

When doors of Eden close — the heart turns adaman- 
tine steel. 

We who were never parted in our years of wedded 

bliss 
Were torn asunder ne'er to meet; good-by! a last 

fond kiss! 
Once in three months might heart to heart repeat in 

tender strain 
To each its living sorrow; no hope, for hope was 

vain. 

I, fainting, tried to cheer him; he, fainting, heart- 
worn, weak, 
Would write how souls united at length would hav- 
en speak. 

109 



^ 



My letters were his comfort; three months to wait 

for each ! 
His words alone my heart of hearts in sympathy 

could reach. 

I told him of our baby; he answered with a sigh, 
Yet longed to know she loved him; — his thoughts 

were ever nigh — 
But when our baby's spirit its kindred spirits sought, 
I feared for him, yet tell I must, though anguish in 

the thought. 

I tried to cheer him with my love, — undying, that he 
knew, 

We spoke of heaven, longed for death, life to begin 
anew. 

Each letter sadder, sadder ; while brighter grew that 
hope ; 

For, casting off the veil, we sought to view the dis- 
tant scope. 

Now, now you know my story. Somehow, I can't 

make clear 
Just how we feel : sunshine or shade a pall upon life's 

bier. 
Ten years have dragged their weary days across our 

vision, blind 
With scalding tears; the pallid cheek bespeaks thji 

weary mind. 

RETURN 

And, now, to-night! I'm glad you've asked my story, 

glad you've come — 
What's that within my casement? there? 'Tis gone! 

O, were he come ! 
But, see! The shadow! 'tis again! you see it, too? O, 

speak ! 

no 



Speak, speak, my Love ! Is't thou ? is't thou ? It turns ! 
O, I am weak ! 

It is! O, Love, it is ! it is! Within thy arms I rest 

My weary form — you know not, dear, how tired ! — 
on thy breast. 

I love to lie — ^your story? What care I since you're 
free, 

And here in flesh upon my heart to strengthen, cher- 
ish me! 

You say you're cleared of murder, at last? 'Twas 

always so! 
For so-called law miscarries; fills innocence with 

woe. 
The criminal, at last, confessed, you say ? the truth 

is plain ? 
O, dear, poor, aching heart, how good to be with you 

again ! 

The past with one exception we willingly forget ; 
That one, our Daisy's footprints ; they leave no vain 

regret; 
For through the gates of heaven her precious smile 

we see. 
O, precious husband! Darling wife! I'm happy! I 

am free! 

Our home is bathed in sunshine, and perfume-lad- 

ened air 
Sifts through the rosy trellis, while peace blooms 

everjrwhere. 
Through flower-field we travel, a-loiter on our way ; 
For, though we look toward heaven, we gladly live 

life's day. 



Ill 



RILEY'S 'RITIN'S 

(A lecture recital of the author's, Introducing a 
number of recitations from James Whitcomb Riley, 
which, of course, are not here printed, the titles only 
being given). 

A man's philosophy is the key-note to his life; at 
least it should be. But not all who preach prac- 
tice; the professor is not always the possessor. Yet 
it is well to have a philosophy, just as it is well to 
have a hobby. However, you must ride it, though 
not to death. Riley has his Philosophy, and he rides 
it on his hobby, the "Hoosier Dialect." 



"3 



My Philosophy. 

Just to be satisfied, just to do our best; 

A little toil, a little worry, — rest. 
May be we, in the flood of years, 
May grasp the reason for our fears, 
And bless the hand that sent us tears. 

Some day the dawn will brighter glow 

Because of heart-endured woe; 
The hum of life, in us attune. 
Will burst a budding, blushing June, 

Down Around the River. 

O, what a picture, Riley, thou hast brought us of a 

day 
We each have loved! the rippling creek a-winding 

far away 
Beneath the boughs of elder, sweet-scented sassafras. 
The willowy plumes of flowers, the swaying ribbon- 
grass ! 
How like the spotted lady-bug, of childhood's hap- 
py day. 
We want to climb the highest knoll, and spread 

our wings away! 
But scenes have changed ; our fairest dreams scant 

ether takes possession ; 
We'll draw the curtain, change our theme, with 

Sister Jones' Confession. 

Like Sister Jones, sometimes our hearts are all too 
full for song ; 

We gaze enraptured with the theme, while love's al- 
lurements throng 

Our path ; — a flowery paradise — we take no note of 
stock, 

E'en when the frost the "punkin's" on, the fodder in 
the shock. 

115 



When the Frost Is on the Pumpkin and 
The Fodder in the Shock. 

The Days Gone By. 

In those days gone by, 

What a mist of joys and fears 
Crowds the days with laughter, tears ! 
Joys in present gains, and crosses 
For the petty childish losses; 

Fears for what a boy will do 

When the World Busts Through. 

But childish fears and childhood's grief 

Soon over, finds a balm, relief. ' 

How tempting! paths and winding glades; 

Where sunbeams sift through whispering blades ; 
Or, where the highway stretches on ! — 
Cloud castles, till the setting sun. 

O, ever near the boy's dear heart ' 

Are scenes like these, — the fairest part; 
And e'en in manhood's hoary day 
We turn us to the far-away. 

Out to Old Aunt Mary's. 

O, could we see amidst the whirl that fronts our lives 
to-day 

The simple thought, the hopeful trend, and helpful 
guidance aye ! 
Could I trust all ; that this frail child that fondly 

clings to me 
Will shun the paths that lead and bind the heart 
to misery, 

I then might rest in confidence, praying God's bless- 
ing fall 

Upon this sunbeam of our lives, so tender, weak, and 
small. 

Dot Leedle Baby. 

Ii6 



But hearts rebel; vainly we try 
To run the universe; rely 

Upon our asking; telling how 
The Lord should sun and rain allow. 
We, like the tree-toad croak ; then say 
Jt surely comes because we pray. 

The Tree-Toad 

Judge you, or whether It, or not. 

Came since the croaker loudly sought. 
I'm not gainsaying that the thing 
We rightly wish will action spring; 

I just suggest that we who say 

We pray in faith wait but a day 

To get the blessing God will give 
If surely what we claim we live. 

May be the Lord will tired grow 

Our coaxing what He will bestow, 
If ravens feed and sparrows fall 
Alone upon His knowledge, call 

For nobler riches, of the heart; 

Believe, and praise Him. Act your part. 

******* 

Tve had my word. Rightly it may 
Seem time for you to have your say. 

We take our turn; iive minutes now 

Of respite you I shall allow. 
Pray take your chance; when it is "done" 

Where we "leave off we will begun." 

******* 

That Old Sweetheart of Mine. 

A song for you children, — men and women too 

soon — 
A story I heard of the Man in the Moon. 

The Man in the Moon. 
.117 



O, Riley, you feed us on lessons of truth 
When you cull for our fancy the visions of youth. 
And what could so touch us on our hearts' trem- 
bling strings 
Like the Old Swimmin' Hole! What an incense it 

flings 
Round the days when the straw-hatted, bare-legged 

boy 
Shunned political court for this far-famed joy ! 

The Old Swimmin Hole. 

Our hearts are toys of joy and grief; 
To-day we laugh with sparkling eye, — 
To-morrow finds us with the sigh 
Upon our lip. 
Thus each shows each in best relief; 
Our pride and hope to ashes turn; 
Our feet upon the cherished burn 
Totter and slip. 

Old Man and Jim. 

Or old, or young, why need we mourn. 
If, duty done, from earth we're borne? 
Could we e'en as the little boy 
All crippled, find in all the joy 
That comes with innocence divine, 
What peace our life's web would entwine ! 

The Happy Little Cripple. 

We each and all, or more, or less. 
This aphorism must confess; 

That where we live, what we may be, 

Suits our fine taste just to a T. 
Now, out old Indiana's ways 
The town of Tailholt has its praise. 

ii8 



What need we care If Uncle Jim 
Finds Tailholts good enough for him ? 
(It may be you the hog would prove — 
Each instinct runs in its own groove.) 

We'll hear our uncle now relate 

Of Tailholt, Indiana State. 

The Little Toiun of Tailholt. 

Well, laugh at will, my friends, and say. 
His little whim ; I grant you may. 
I own I love the ragged road 
That leads to rugged truth's abode; 
You'll find it oft beneath the coat 
Of brown, or gray, — a sturdy note, 
The hardened hand, the furrowed brow 
Touches my heart's best chords somehow. 

Nothin at All to Say. 

I now must shift my scene again ; 

The folks have gone; the wind and rain 
Make mournful music through the trees; 
While Sambo shivers, in the knees ; 

He hears; his superstitious fear 

Adds life; what happened will appear. 

When de Folks Is Gone. 

And now that all are home at last, — 
The bulk of entertainment past — 
Beneath the early summer sun, 
We'll close where we at first begun ; 
A scene from life ; the earth attune 
To heavens blue — Knee-deep in June. 

Knee-Deep In June. 
119 



We've rested in the sunny Junes ; 

Of other days, 
A-loiter 'neath the harvest moons, — 

Treading the ways 
Our fancies led us, — blissful hours! — 
Among the ever-blooming flowers 

Of hope and youth. 
My prayer : you profit by the touch 

Of mystic hands 
And hearts e'er loving, loving much, 

From eden lands. 
Go forth renewed in strength and will 
For life's fierce turmoil, trusting still 

In God and truth. 



1 



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